


Perfectly Imperfect

by myria_chan



Category: Free!
Genre: 30 Kisses Challenge, M/M, fwp (fluff without plot), random kissing every now and then, will tag characters appropriately when they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myria_chan/pseuds/myria_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collection of Thirty Kisses for SouMomo | Just warm kisses, sunshine, and fwp (fluff without plot)!</p><p>01. our distance and that person - morning kiss (or that thing called "SouRin")<br/>02. in a good mood - hallway kiss (or that kiss that kinda tells the world the obvious)<br/>03.  Wada Calcium CD3 - temple kiss (or you kinda had it coming, bae)<br/>04. anou sa - valentine day kiss (featuring onsen etiquette, dreams, and a whole lot of steam)<br/>05. look over here - kiss on the cheek (or jealousy for a purpose)<br/>06. red - kiss and tell (or Seijuurou)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. our distance and that person

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I am deep into SouMomo. :D
> 
> Remember that really ancient popular 30 Subjects Challenges back in the days for every pairing. It has always been a life goal of mine to complete one for my OTP. So, thank you SouMoMo for existing. My dream will finally come into realization. 
> 
> I share this happiness with every SouMomo fan out there. Who cares if we're small in number? We're big in love and sunshine!
> 
> Well, onto the fics!

Momotarou Mikoshiba understands SouRin and its charm.

They’re childhood friends, best friends, war buddies—and yay!—more connected to each other than they are with their mothers. He respects that connection. He will go as far as to protect that connection. But waking up next to SouRin, Momo is not quite sure how to go about with this.

Waking up next to the boyfriend—his hand resting on your hip, his breath against your hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your fingertips—is nice and sends warm and fuzzy feelings from his chest all the way to the tips of his toes.

But leaning over and feeling up the boyfriend’s best friends packages: not as spectacular as he had previously imagined, especially if the boyfriend is sleeping there in between.

Just to be clear, Momo has nothing against his beloved Rin-senpai.

Rin-senpai is—to quote his Nitori-senpai—so perfect. He’s the typical awesome jock: great at sports, spectacular in school, gifted with a body chiseled like a western Adonis, and a face carved by angels. His major should have been his jagged teeth, but boy, dude has an incredible smile that can light up a continent worth of black out.

Rin Matsuoka is the perfect third wheel of the SouMomo relationship: strong, young, unrestrained, dangerous but essential in keeping the bond healthy and worth-it.

Now if Momo can only figure out the proper phrasing for that statement.

He is not blessed with the opportunity to dwell into his latest predicament, however, as an alarm clock blares good morning to the tune of Aiichirou Nitori’s recorded voice.

“ _Senpai! Rise and shine! It’s morning! Senpai! Rise and shine! It’s morning! Senpai! Rise and shine! It’s morning!”_

Momo angles his body and follows to where the familiar voice is coming from. He finds the alarm, dubiously shaped like a dumbbell, on the corner beside Rin’s desk, blinking in blue LED lights. Arguably, his Nitori-senpai’s voice is the most effective tone to wake up to in the morning, but the repetitive high-pitched alarm is starting to ring inside his ears in a bothersome way. He flips and grabs for it, turning over on all sides, trying to find the off button.

“You have to lift it 30 times before you can shut it up,” Rin yawns the entirety of his statement, taking the aggravating alarm so he can start flexing his arms, opting to rest on his bunk as he does so.  With the heel of his foot, he attempts the rouse the last occupant from sleep. “Oi, get up, you lazy bum. We still have morning run to do.”

Momo recalls morning run is a SouRin thing, amongst many things: passion for competitive swimming, interest in extreme sports, videogames, telepathy. Not to mention that knee-to-the-calf nudge thingy. Apparently, waking the other up in the morning is a SouRin thing too.

Pity.

Oh well, it's probably time to go back to his room.

Sousuke rises dazedly and stretches, his joints giving a satisfying click as he pulls them up over his head. His droopy eyes, still hazy with sleep, blinks, focuses and stares.

Momo isn’t sure what Sousuke sees exactly, but whatever it is, it brought a peculiar smile upon his sleepy face—one that stretches to reach the twinkle in his eyes, unguarded and carefree, teasing the corners of his cheeks to showcase their lines and dimples.

Momo returns the sentiment with a grin. “Hi.”

 “Five more minutes,” Sousuke says to no one in particular, before he tangles Momo back into his arms, draping the over their heads like a soft cocoon, blocking the intruding sunlight and roommate from sight.

Momo can hear a chuckle from overhead. “Five minutes then,” Rin replies and pads out of the room, the door swinging close as he exits.

That is Sousuke’s cue to close their distance and kiss him. Momo reserves the right to be shocked at first. He never pegged Sousuke to be the one who initiates such things, but after a moment’s relief passes through him, he allows himself to sink against Sousuke, reaching up to entangle his fingers against the messy locks, pressing closer.

Momo really, _really_ likes the way Sousuke kisses him but this so far goes down to the books of his favorites—slow and electric, coaxing his senses to riveting awareness, bubbles of delight brewing in his chest for more, deeper, closer.

He sighs softly and melts, thinking, revering. They should wake up like this more often, wrapped in each other’s arms, necking; distance chased away by peach colored skies and light streams; the quiet hum of nature to their background, singing a wordless hush of the great day ahead.

They pull apart by inches to breathe, to think, to grin like the thoroughly besotted idiots they are.

“Good morning,” Momo says it again in wonder, catching his breath—this time he feels he really means it; and places a tender kiss on Sousuke’s forehead.

“Good morning,” Sousuke whispers, places feather-light kisses on wherever he can reach: the bridge of his nose, the space between his eyebrows, the backs of his ears, his eyelids, the corners of his mouth.

“I need to go back to my room now,” He makes sure to sound as every bit of disappointed as he can, leaning forward to meet their lips once more.

“Then go.” A kiss.

“Okay.” Then another.

That last kiss has them sighing, hesitation breathing into the quiet comfort of their embrace for the imminent separation. It _is_ broad daylight and they both need to prepare for the day ahead.

Finally, Sousuke summons enough decency to pull away, leans against the bottom bunk of the bed and heaves, looking, _staring_ atthedelicious picture Momo makes: all rumpled and pink, sleep-tousled locks strewn in messy directions like a rough halo, the twinkle in his eyes, and the relaxed angle of his body; gives up the pretense and bends down for just one more time.

Momo doesn’t bother stopping him at all, winding his arms around Sousuke’s neck, pulling them deeper against the bed sheets. To his surprise—and utter delight—Sousuke snakes his arms around his back and braces, tugging them both to sitting position against the bottom bunk. This position grants Momo much leverage to take control and pin him.

Not that Sousuke minds, no. Not in the way he tightens his grip around Momo’s waist, holding him securely.

“You two are still at it?” Rin announces his return with feigned annoyance and mocking disdain, shaking his head as he rummages inside his closed, taking his every bit of previous time—a silent vow to make their experience as uncomfortable as they are making him.

Momo abruptly breaks away, almost lightheaded, shooting his captain an apologetic look just because Rin is begging for it, before pressing his lips against Sousuke for one last time. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Breakfast.” Sousuke seems smitten by the word.  

Springing to his feet, Momo bounces back to his room, the thoughts of a good meal and great company adding an extra spring with every step.

(Ah, it’s great to be young and in love.)


	2. in a good mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the perks of shipping SouMomo is that you get to abuse Sousuke's chirpier-than-fluttering-birds demeanor caused by the little ball of sunshiny delight to your heart's content. (and vice versa)

Sousuke is utterly, genuinely convinced that there was something wrong with his face.

It’s intact. The set of his eyes, brows and eyelids are complete, ears are in place, nose still a protruding bridge at the center of his face, jaws and facial structures undented and prominent as ever. But he can feel that something is wide of the mark.

His teammates must have caught on with whatever is going on with him: a few wear frowns, eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets as they followed his trail to the changing rooms; some have their eyebrows shoot so high, it touched their hairlines; others with the tiniest smirks on their faces coupled by a curt nod—knowing, teasing—what they know and will tease about, he has zero idea.

This morning has been uneventful. He had stick to his daily routine of waking up, eating a hearty meal for breakfast, a few meter run around the campus for warm-up, then back to the dorms to fish his school and club thingamajigs, where he will then make a trip to the pool for morning practice.

The only out-of-the-ordinary encounter he had experience on the way is Momo trailblazing back to the direction of his room, wailing for his swim trunks and his attendance at the top of his lungs. Sousuke obligingly stays the opposing lane to avoid being trampled over by the rendering thunderbolt.

To his surprise, Momo slides to his side of the hallway to block, rises on tiptoes and places a chaste kiss on his unsuspecting lips until he summons enough courage to grab Sousuke by the shoulders and press closer. They are getting used to this little routine, wherein Sousuke obliges, bending his neck so that their noses bumped, their foreheads touched.

What he probably won’t get used to is the silly expression Momo wears after: his eyes glazed with an unfamiliar sheen of tenderness, his expression relaxed, and on his lips the goofiest smile Sousuke has ever seen; and the bubbling glee rising from his chest knowing that he is exactly the reason for that silly expression.

A giggle disrupts him from his daily musings, and Sousuke turns to give the perpetrator a probing.

Aiichirou slides him a shy glance, squirming on his feet, unsure if he should tell his senpai what the commotion is all about. Finally, with a nervous chuckle, Aiichirou points out the obvious, “You’re smiling, senpai.”

_Oh_

Sousuke takes a moment to touch his lips, the contours of which skimmed upward in favor of a smile. He massages his face, stretching his cheeks and forehead to smooth the lines where the creases formed and his dimples dipped.

After a few ministrations, confident that he had somehow returned his expression to its usual pocker-face state, he dares to ask, “Is it gone?”

Aiichirou shakes his head, biting his lips, and hands him a pocket mirror so Sousuke can see the image of Momo’s silly expression reflected over his own entire face.


	3. Wada Calcium CD3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s short, it’s sweet, it’s slightly NSFW (if you blink you might miss it), and it’s for GleeFreak97, because she loves the things I write, and is not afraid to review them! I hope you have a great time reading this, as I have a great time reading your messages. :D Thank you so much, dear!!!

* * *

 

He should have known bringing Momo to the Pharmacy would have its drawback. Sousuke needed to restock his supplies of analgesics, and probably grab a few sets of icepacks along the way as prescribed by his doctor. Shouldn’t be so bad, they’d be out of the pharmacy and eating ice cream in no time.

Or so he thought, having underestimated Momo’s apparent affection for him; Sousuke’s proof was the ridiculous collection of purchase anyone had the misfortune shopping for: herbal remedies, an assortment of gluten-free products, all “natural” multi-grain crackers, fruit yogurts, and he’s pretty sure there’s a magazine of Buddhist charms and healing incantations along the mix.

“Look what I found,” Momo dashes back to his direction, “Rhubarb Tea!”

Sousuke gives the bottle a sinister glare. “Do you know what _that_ tastes like?”

“Rhubarb? And Tea? Green tea, it says here. It’s good for digestion so it must be good for you! And also this!” quips Momo, a bottle of Wada Calcium CD3 in his hand, adorable and charming as always.

But as adorable, charming as Sousuke found him, Momo’s compulsive tendency to be over the top was rearing its ugly head. Case in point: the every growing purchases of surplus of health products that was about to drown them. Sousuke needed to set his foot down _fast_.

“I have a torn tendon,” he said slowly, meaning to grind purpose back to their little trip, placing a hand on his injured shoulder for further emphasis. “I don’t need calcium.”

“Torn?” Momo’s eyes widened. “You need super glue, then! I think I saw one by the cashier.”

Sousuke rubbed his temple as he watched Momo make a wild slide to the otherwise composed sales clerk. He had a feeling Momo had no idea what a torn tendon was, or a tendon by itself; and that willful realization dawned a groaned, Sousuke recognizing they would be sharing a lot more of these instances together, pondering if he’d be able to get used to all of this.

He studied the displays on the shelves to pass time, in high hopes to find something—anything—to make this arduous ordeal meaningful when a peculiar box caught his attention.

“Here’s the super glue!” shouted Momo, waving the tube like a flag of victory. “Hey, what have you got—Sousuke-san!” Hearing the slightly smothered note at the end of his name was enough indication that Momo was fully aware of the box of fancy and what it meant.

Sousuke smirked in good favor, “I didn’t know they sell these in peach flavor,” adding the box of rubbers to their health-filled pile of goods, enjoying the glorious flush of red spreading like wildfire all over Momo’s face to the tips of his ears. Snaking an arm on the curve his waist, Sousuke pulled Momo closer, leaning that his mouth tickled the shell of a reddened ear, whispered low enough just so that the two of them can only hear, “We’ll also be needing lotion. Have you seen those around?”

Momo flushed a few shades darker, his response is a strangled cry; Sousuke kisses his temple and laughs heartily. Yep, he could get used to this.

* * *

 


	4. anou sa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke + Momo + Onsen + Priorities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late Valentine’s Day gift to all the SouMomo fans. :D

* * *

Their accommodations have been a definite delight—a small all-around function room fashioned in a modernistic Japanese style, blended in calming colors of green tatami floorings and sandy fawn walls, polished wooden floorboards, and whitewash shoji screens; adjoined by serviceable bathroom to its right, outfitted in a combination of white and black marble, with a minimalist rectangular sink, and a rainfall showerhead; to its left is a sitting room with an excellent view of the countryside terrain—the staff, just the right combination of hospitability and competence, room service and dinner is but heavenly.

The aesthetics of the hot springs is also to be admired: smooth stone steps leading to a pool of pristine waters bordered by boulders of mineral rocks pelted in snow and ice, contrasting schemes creating a mist of steam and enigmatic wonder, the scent of nature that is earthy and elemental; although the best feature is the privacy it offers.

Quite the hefty prize considering they have won this deluxe trip via the grocery lottery.

Sousuke eyes the steaming waters curiously, moving forward to poke his foot on the surface, finding the temperature at a pleasing level.

“What are you waiting for?”

Figures it will take a second for Momo to break the tranquility, running past him like an orange haze, the towel around his hips thrown without heed, falling swaying to the ground in time with the splash, as he cannonballs, naked as the day he was born.

Sousuke shakes his head, drawls in a lazy fashion, “Did you even take a shower?”

His question is drowned and dutifully ignored, as Momo dips his head underwater, flips back, the water catching his hair in damp, artless tendrils.

Sousuke’s eyes narrows—really likes it when his hair is pushed back like that—and from the way the little imp gives a sultry grin, combing his hair with one hand, knows Momo understands as much.

Sousuke shakes his head—well, two can play that game—hands ghosting over hem of the towel, light, slow, marauding in nimble fluidity, inching to the knot; with quick deft fingers, lets the cloth slip across his body to join the unheeded heap on the floor, enjoying the unholy light flashing in those golden eyes, basking in full glory, before treading to the waters at a leisurely pace, sliding to a spot near the rock formations where he can rest his shoulder; and finally smirks.

“Show off!” Momo sends him a tidal wave.

Sousuke makes no move to counter that; simply reaching, a laugh of his own, meaning to grab on the outstretch arm but settles for his hand, filling empty space with each finger. With his free hand, he encircles his arm around the waist, cradling, his eyes closing as his cheek hovers against Momo’s head. Out of instinct, out of practice, out of tenderness, Momo moves closer, resting his head on the broad expanse of a strong shoulder, arms locked for a fitted embrace, sighing in contentment.

They stay as such for a while, breathing, sinking to each other, counting seconds by heartbeats, passing time to drift, marveling how well their bodies mold together, a privilege far more intimate, riveting, than any kiss they might share.

Sousuke sometimes thinks he is broken for this moment. Had he stayed whole and prideful, he wouldn’t had the chance to mend, to rediscover; hadn’t the chance discern his potentials outside the well-crafted cages of decapitating self-worth and supposed dream-come-true; still be building fortresses and burning bridges as a hobby, ever assuming, never knowing; his chance for forever and after replaced by meaningless podiums and gold-plated nonsenses.

But this—wrapped in each other’s arms, the elements shielding them from possible onlookers, the healing waters dissolving apprehensions for the splendor of a moment—this is almost perfect.

“Stop it.” Momo flicks the tip of his nose, annoyed, nuzzling once more for that coveted comfortable spot Sousuke unknowingly disturbed in favor of musings and meanings. “You’re thinking. Your shoulders stiffen when you think. You’re thinking too much.” Fingers splay at the broad expanse of his back, alternating in kneading the tight muscles and massaging in hypnotizing circles.

“You just needed a reason to touch me,” he says without heat.

Momo hums a tuneless agreement, nibbling at the expanse of sweat and steam damp skin bared for his ministrations.

This is his safety ground of reality, of what is present and constant, far greater than any his fears and rumination, an exception he will never trade for the universe.

“Will you love me even if I wasn’t a swimmer?”

The question cuts through the air—he still has the knack of brewing storms, a kind of insensitive indifference that can drive someone pass a wall to the epicenter of the planet’s core—the kisses stop coming as he imagines, as if the magic evaporated with the steam around them, to be replaced by weightless credence.

Yet, he needs to confirm, needs to ask, needs to prove that staying in love is half of job they are bound to be doing.

Momo doesn’t speak, doesn’t move away; doesn’t lose the glint of mirth and devotion in his golden eyes. Finally, with a smile worth a thousand starbursts, he says, “I will love you even if you become a stag beetle,” brushing the snowflakes that has somehow gathered on his head, on the serious he asks back.

“Will you love yourself even if you weren’t a swimmer?”

Sousuke first thought is that he’s the wise one of their relationship, but now, greyed by let-downs and weathered by unfinished stories, he understands he does not measure up—probably never will—and the hilarious thing is no one is keeping tabs.

Momo just lets him do what he does best, at his own pace, in his own time; be there ‘til infinity for what it’s worth.

He scoops a handful of steam and water, droplets trickling through cupped hands, and murmurs, “Magic water, please heal Sousuke-san’s shoulder.” Momo places his lips tenderly on the shoulder, sealing his prayer.

It is with these moments that Sousuke can’t bear to look at him.

Momo’s far too bright, too keen, too pure for his derisive twistedness. Yet still, he chooses to stay for all of it, all of _him_ , takes his uncertainties with patience and kindness, takes his prejudice wrapped in reason, in resentment like Christmas morning presents—how in the mighty heavens did he even deserve this?

He bets kissing will seal the deal, which to a nautical calculation that astounds him, he does, in passion and in gratitude because today is special. Today is a license to be stupid, an occasion to be cliché, a commemoration of deeds and pledges of gag-worthy proportions all in the name of love.

“Clingy,” Momo puffs, pulling away.

“I am,” he agrees almost immediately, lips trailblazing the delectable line Momo bares as he throws his head back for a laugh.

“You’re always clingy when it’s just the two of us,” is the breathless accusation, edging closer.

“That’s because you’re focused. When we’re alone you center all your attention to me,” he says, meaning the words with every kiss, on the shell of his ears, the junction where his neck joins his shoulder, the hollow at the base of his throat, the insides of the elbows, the tips of his fingers.

The smile that Momo sends him wavers at the edges. “Dizzy.”

“Dizzy…?” Sousuke tilts his head to the side and takes notice: of the labored, metered breathing, of the color rising from his shoulders to his cheeks, of the faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead from passion and _heat_ —which brings Sousuke back to his original question. “Did you shower?”

Momo manages to shake his head, before promptly passing out.

* * *

“I am an embarrassment,” he whines having regained consciousness, albeit unstable and remarkably reddened, flat on his back on the futon with a damp cloth covering his eyes.

“Your shameful secret is safe with me,” Sousuke teases, lowering the room’s temperature by a couple of centigrade to hasten his recovery. Momo should have known better than to overrule every onsen etiquette there is in existence, and Sousuke should have known better than to get frisky under steaming waters. What a beautiful couple of idiots they make.

He replaces the cloth back to its basin, kissing both of closed eyelids, before propping Momo to a sitting position, a bottle of cold water waiting to be drank.

Momo takes sips of cold water as obliged, flush from residual heat and fragmentary embarrassment, pouting and sulking and horribly adorable, “I was really looking forward to it… hot spring sex.”

Sousuke feels his face heat-up, isn’t sure which words to use in reply to that, so instead he leans closer and lets his body speak for him. And from the way Momo swallows in significant quantity, his temperament quieted, knows they share the sentiment.

“Let’s drop by the hospital before heading home,” he says after some time.

“I’m fine,” Momo’s whine escalates to another octave, flinging back to the laid-out futon in drama and in style. Rin would be proud of him.

“I meant for me. But sure, we can have you checked-up too, if that’s what you want.” He prefers not look as he says this, busying himself with rinsing the washcloth on the basin.

Sousuke closes his eyes and waits; longs for familiar arms to encircle him from the behind, picturing the smile he had engraved in his soul directed at him, the softness of his cheek pressed against the lines of his back, as fingers unfurl to be captured by his own, from the same person he wants to share the world with as he braves his unknowns; a smile bursting forth when it happens.

“Anou sa… Sousuke-san?”

“Hn?”

“We will take care of each other, won’t we?”

“Of course.” Sousuke promises, likes the way how the words ring, impressed at how two simple words could substitute for three on this glorious day of over-glorified sentimentality.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Sousuke groans in full meaning. “Don’t make me say that back.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the season of love has been celebrated, I'll stop being gross and romantic now. :D Hope you liked it!


	5. look over here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. :D Sorta, somehow related to letter J- Jealousy of the Alphabet Challenge I did way back.

* * *

Momo is the typical “I sorta-kinda like you ‘cause you look hot at first glance” person.

That is normal.

According to science, men find attraction through physical features. Whether it is a nice pair of eyes, the gentleness of a face, full lips, the well-endowed built of bones and curves, a proportionate hip and waist ratio, or the stream lines of long legs, he can’t help but stop and look.

He wouldn’t call it attraction, though.

He prefers the term _appreciation—_ that people can feel good about themselves and doesn’t feel guilty to share that feeling to everyone _._

He believes it is a social obligation to spare people a glance.

Take for example, the lady from across the counter, with her shiny hair stylishly kept in a neat braid. She laughs like it was the most natural thing in the world, and boy, did she have gorgeous set of smile! Nice ruby red lips…

Momo yelps when he felt another pair of lips brush against his cheek. Momo flails about and stutters his affront—remarkably translates to “What was that for?—staring his accusation against Sousuke, who happens to wear his masks of disdain, discord, and disappointment directed over his person.

“You were staring.”

“I was observing!”

“We’re on a date,” Sousuke drills that particular with a frown, “Eyes on me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“How would you feel if I start looking at other people when we go out?” Sousuke barks, testing his defenses. While he understands Momo has no intention of pursuing further, still it wouldn’t hurt to let him know he does not share the appreciation.

Momo pouts, but thinks about it. Truly. He has been doing that a lot lately—thinking. He believes it to be an incentive of dating someone older than him, someone who is willing to let him grow as a person. While he thinks it’s all good intention to make a lady feel good about her beauty, it wouldn’t be exactly fair if Sousuke-san ends up in a bad mood.

And if the situation is reversed…

If Sousuke-san’s the one with eyes on another person…

Had Momo caught the similar scenario the way it is being pictured out for him…

And yet, he can’t help but feel _calm—_ as if the surroundings is filled with turmoil, but he’s kept in a very safe place. After all, he has someone who is jealous for him! A person who likes him back.

Momo can’t help but feel grateful for the feeling of being tied down.

“Oi.” Sousuke pries him back to reality, snakes a hand around his and threads their fingers in place. “You’re awfully silent.”

“Then,” he says, when he finally finds his voice again, “if I caught you staring at others, you’ll let me kiss you in public too?”

He catches Sousuke unguarded— with the probability of spiraling the situation to a debacle is substantially higher given their clashing personalities. But Momo’s learning, growing,  trying—that somehow, he’s in the right journey towards maturity with the right person at the right time—and the feeling that it is mutual leaves a subtle sense of relief in his soul.

“Whatever counts.”

Momo thinks Sousuke’s face is beautiful when he’s in a competition.

Until today anyway.


	6. 6. red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summary: Seijuurou is in town and takes a first glimpse at the Sou of his Momo

* * *

First: an awkward smile—the kind you shoot to distract, before you make a quick dash to oblivion. Seijuurou squints back to the address written on his phone, then to the accompanying map, to the house number template, before darting a quick glance at Shoulder-kun.

He has a name somewhere, but Seijuurou is having a difficult time recalling between the apron, the spatula, the face set in perpetual composure, and the unexpectancy of his presence at Momo's house.

“He’ll be at home by seven,” Shoulder-kun replies smoothly—and confidently, if Seijuurou may add—despite mirroring his confusion. “Momo.”

Shoulder-kun opens the door wider for him to enter.

He removes his shoes out of common courtesy, pockets his gloves and places his jacket to the rack, then is ushered to the path leading to living room area, where a kotatsu sits with a flat screen television, a homemade component system. Seijuurou settles his legs underneath the warmed blankets, the radiating heat a welcome to his system. His long travel from Tokyo is accompanied by the bittersweet wintery winds so he lets himself indulge in the comfortable change of temperature.

“Yamazaki Sousuke,” Shoulder-kun says, extending a hand.

“Shoulder-kun!” Seijuurou says it finally, this time with recollection—the Shoulder-kun who swam with his brother during the National Swimming Competition Relay, who brought more resilience and drama to the competition than he can ever hope to achieve. They are graduates from the same school, though Yamazaki transferred the year after his graduation.

“Mikoshiba Seijuurou.” He returns the handshake.

Sousuke strains his smile. “You called me that in High School too.” He then hands Seijuurou the remote control, and promptly excuses himself for some refreshments.

Seijuurou smiles at the thoughtfulness, but favors observing his brother’s current residence instead. Although the exterior boasted a traditional Japanese style, the interior is patterned to accommodate the taste of a modern, minimalist millennial, quite similar to his apartment in Tokyo. Soft, pastel yellow painted the walls in strike, complementary contrast with the rustic floorboards and tatami matting.

To its left is the dining area connected to what appears to be a kitchen. Seijuurou catches the scent of savory spices—curry?—from said area. His stomach grumbles in appreciation.

Curiosity tempts him to wander further than his eyes and nose can reach, but Shoulder-kun regarded him with such unnerving courtesy, it would be a shame.

He sends a text message to his brother instead.

  
To: My favorite little brother

( ･ㅂ･)و Hey, squirt? How are you? So just a tiny heads up: I’m in your house. SURPRISE!!!

PS. You have a housemate. ヘ( ^o^)ノ

 

Speaking of the devil.

“He never mentioned anything about your visit,” Sousuke says upon his return, without heat, meaning to excuse the lack of preparedness on the short notice. He brings hot tea with him, and offers Seijuurou a cup.

The grin he sends is on edge. “That would me my fault. Today’s supposed to be a surprise.” The surprise is on him, though. He swallows that last remark with tea.

“It’s a good thing the guest room has been cleaned, then.”

“You have three bedrooms?”

“Just two.”

Seijuurou nearly chokes on his drink and stares—should gazes drill a hole, he would have done so at this moment—as he counts the seconds before the implication catches on.

Sousuke is about to stammer a crafty explanation when his phone cuts him short.

‘ _Sousuke-san, it’s your beloved Momo! I promise to bring you kisses if you answer your phone~~’_ on repeat. The amusement he gets from flushing this grown man beet red is priceless, but not as precious as fitting the pieces of the predicament together.

Yup, that explains the two bedrooms.

“You might want to answer that.” Seijuurou takes another gulp of his drink, barely containing his amusement.

He swears he heard his brother’s scream before the call button is pushed.

* * *

 

(Outtake)

One fine afternoon, Seijuurou checks his phone and finds a surprising message from his little brother.

 

To: Dearly Beloved ‘niichan

Hope everyone’s safe and well. I think I’ve found that someone whom I can spend the rest of my life with.

 

He stops dead cold in his tracks, runs all the way to his measly apartment, and rides the first train back to Iwatobi. There are things in life you just have to witness face-to-face.

 

(the end)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Free! Fandom may have been very quiet recently due to the lack of new material, but it is at this moments when we should be filled with more inspiration to show our love for our favourite characters. Have a great day~~~


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